Fast on Your Fleet

I knew it was worth goading Photo Finish so I'd have time to see this.

I’m barely at Fleetfoot’s bedroom door before I hear the hiss of her showerhead as it starts up. So much steam leaks into this room that it feels like a second coat—and let’s be real, it feels almost as opulent as the one I already have.

Of course, what wouldn’t look gorgeous on the Suri Polomare, expo equine extraordinaire?

I’m so lucky Fleetfoot’s so quick to embrace friends ready to drape them in luxury. Especially those conducting a Filydelphia visit with only the best fabrics always on them to dazzle those as well-built as Fleetfoot. After all, it took quite a bit of effort to get this combo platter of satin and suede samples together.

Not a moment too soon either, it seems, if that dolt Photo Finish is playing housesitter already. How did that high-snouted harpy even know Fleetfoot was taking her own way to Manehattan? I was supposed to be shocking her by emerging from this ship at Fleetfoot’s side, not the other way around!

And Photo's gotten some cheek too.

That makes my heart thrum something fierce beneath the mini-dress I'm wearing. Makes what's underneath get a little damp, too.

Alas, the true reason for being here is already Coco means well, but she’s such clumsy company. Some things in this life take the caress of a fine lady’s touch, as Rarity would say.

And if my wait was long enough, I think right nooooow, Fleet should be—

I clasp my hands over my mouth and shudder in joy. Oh! Oh yes! Fleetfoot’s already midway through her shower.

With the sight in front of me, though, I’m certain I’ll be wetter in a few minutes.

I almost want to step in now, but I don’t; delicacy is the name of this game. I need to make sure I commit everything before my widening eyes to memory.

Not like it’s hard; every inch of Fleetfoot’s scrumptious skin looks like it was carved from the Rockville mines themselves. An endless series of trim pebbles others would call abs but which I call a jadeite brick road leads up to two heaving breasts, the water keeping them nice and shiny. Fleetfoot’s trademark primped mane is around her eyes now, that curtain of white only making her look hotter. Then there’s what lies between her shifting thighs.

This Wonderbolt’s always been catty about it in interviews, but between every sentence about how she could break any stallion or mare was always this curt eye-roll. Most ponies would see that and think Fleetfoot was kidding to make some poor reporter blush, but me? I always knew the true meaning of that.

It’s the confidence of a dickmare.

And the proof is in the pelvis.

Tapping at Fleetfoot’s thigh and almost half as thick is one of the juiciest cocks I’ve ever seen. Mottled green skin and veins taper out to a bright, pink hammerhead; a pulsing shaft that seems to grow an inch in length each time the shower spray beats down on it. And the scruff of white hair at the tip; oh, I knew that mane Fleetfoot sported wasn’t a dye job!

I’m learning so much about Fleetfoot already, but it’s only fair. I’ll be returning the favor very soon.

That’s the difference between Photo and me, you see. Photo Finish, for her oh-so-vaunted photography skills, prefers to talk. All the time, even! She’s the biggest square in Equestria, in more ways than one, and Fleet’s a round hole. No, Fleetfoot’s is clearly a mare of action. And Photo may have kept her curiosity until now…

But here? It’s time for me to make my move.

My fingers hook in the straps of my dress and I push them over, then down. Immediately my tits breathe a grateful sigh, these buns almost smacking me in the chin.

Oh Photo, dearie; of all the things on me you could’ve called fake, you went for these? Even as I jostle them, feeling their all-too-real heft, those telltale sparks of arousal shoot right to my core. If I continue this much longer, I’ll be soaked with sweat from all the heat building in me.

Good thing there’s a running shower close by then, hm?

I make it there in three strides—this is a cozy little airship, after all—and feel the steamy hotness envelop me. Whether it's the shifting muscles of Fleetfoot or the steam of the shower beating off her, it’s a wonderful turn-on.

Feeling those muscles tense as Fleetfoot realizes the mass behind her isn’t the ebony tiles is almost as titillating. Oh my, and she’s even using a loofah the same shade as my fingernails! What a fitting flurry of royal blue to complement my newest venture!

Not to worry Fleety baby; soon, your sponge and my fingers will be roaming all over your body.

“Wha-Suri?!” Fleetfoot splutters, turning to face me in a spray of water. “W-when did you get in he-oooh…”

See that? When I got into the shower with her? No protest that she’s showering, or that I’m naked, or that my hands have found their home around her pulsing dick’s shaft? I don’t know if it's her sigh or mine that’s louder; or more deserved. This is where being as in-demand as I really pays dividends; when I'm all over a potential client’s body.

Of course, Fleetfoot having such a… welcoming reputation made me a little extra daring today. But I'm confident in my forwardness, and the flutter of her wings and eyelashes let me know they’re well-received.

“I’m so sorry, Fleetfoot…” I croon, biting my tongue salaciously as I nuzzle my face into her back. “I mean, I was so worried about your new guests, about losing out on my clothing opportunities… that I remembered that there’s one spot of you I haven’t measured yet….”

“T-that right?” Fleetfoot huskily whispered. “And here I w-was, thinking you were as much of a tight-ass as the other Manehattan stylists-oh!”

I pull one of my hands back from her girthy rod, enough to let Fleetfoot fully gape at me. Already the mischievousness in her smile is rubbing off of me; so is the soap she uses, if the trails of lather over my breasts and arms are any tell.

“Well, you’re not wrong…” I coo, letting Fleetfoot wrap an arm around me. I’m so close to her, so close to such perfection, and it’s making my brain short out. “But I’m also quite flexible.”

Fleetfoot’s eyes dilate, and I swear I can taste the breath she sucks in before she brings one of my nipples to her mouth. My hands go right back to work on her member, and it feels so insane I’m already this close to such a major celebrity. I knew I’d done my homework on Fleetfoot, on where seemingly impossible tastes and routines; but I’d never imagined any pegasus could be this sex-hungry!

Of course, looking down at her jade-sculpted body, I can see why. Heavens, I’d fuck me with curves like this to look at every morning.

And speaking off, they speed past my eyes as I sink to my knees; again, it’s a bit of a tough fit; this shower is not that big, and Fleetfoot fills half of it with her frame. My lips are now level with the fattest fuckstick I’ve ever seen, though; it’s worth the itch at my knees.

Especially when I take my first slurp, my lips forming an airtight ring around Fleetfoot's green cumpipe.

“Sweet shit, Suriiii…” Fleetfoot whispers, her voice still a harmonious purr I can hear over the hiss of the showerhead. Her pose stiffens, a rock-solid base to help me impale myself more on her cock.

I take the opportunity to study more of Fleetfoot, my eyes greedily committing every inch of the Wonderbolt’s muscles to memory as I easily take more of her down my gullet. For how defined Fleetfoot is, she definitely has a swimmer's build; her chest and arms are long, yet slim. My hand that’s not sweeping up and down her delightfully thickshaft easily wraps around her thigh, not a hint of a shiver felt through the sinew. The pegasus’s wings are a different deal, though; fanning the shower’s spray away from me as I noisily gurgle around Fleetfoot’s fucklog.

But eventually, I long for more of Fleetfoot’s cock inside me. Normally, this would be the time I spent getting that dick around me nice and thick with my saliva, adoringhow it shines around my eager lips. The shower has beaten me to the punch though, Fleetfoot’s body already a glittering altar of fertility as she bites back her moans.

And frankly, I'd love feeling Fleetfoot around my heaving tits.

So I pull my mouth off of Fleetfoot’s erection with a pop, offering up my mango-sized orbs of chestmeat for her to skewer. I idly note that in my haste to get the dress off, my necklace is still on, a silver thread nestled enticingly between my cleavage. But I could care less—I want Fleetfoot to give me some pearls to go with this silver.

And with what’s burbling at the tip of Fleetfoot’s twitching tool, she’s clearly got plenty to spare.

“Go ahead, then, Fleet….” I gasp, squeezing my breasts together. “Let’s see how much material it takes to make your dick disappear.”

Fletfoot flicks a couple of fingers to her lips, and the cutest squeak seeps from between them. By Luna, it even sounded like that pipsqueak Photo Finish’s, right after a...

Wait.

My gaze shoots over to the still-open bathroom door. Nothing greets me, except the steam and fog from the shower. Well, that theory’s quashed; Photo’s not peeping on us. Or she’s too fast for me to catch in the act, but what’s the chance of that?

Regardless, I sweep back my still-dry locks (again, Fleetfoot is staggeringly tall) and smile at Fleetfoot as her cock slips into the valley between my tits. Immediately, my pillow-like rack molds perfectly around her fucklog. I’m soon a drooling mess seeing Fleet’s dick-tip tap at my chin impatiently. It feels like that meatpole’s about to slip into my mouth again, to let those beads of pre-cum at its slit bathe my pretty little throat.

But right now, that throat of mine is busy with other things.

“Oooh, Fleetfoot, you’re so big… “ I purr, my pussy getting slick from the speedier thrusts she gives into my cleavage in response. “Cooped up for so long… and with so little time to get yourself off!”

Fleetfoot doesn’t respond—with words, anyway. My Wonderbolt’s teeth are gritted, her hip muscles bunching, and she’s pistoning her prick in and out of my mammaries. She’s clearly in her element now; hard at work, luxuriating in pleasure.

Batting my eyes at Fleetfloot, I take a special sense of pride in how much energy surges through her—how much purpose to pound me is stoked in one instance. Fleetfoot’s hip-thrusts slowly get more sporadic; she’s humping my face as much as she is my fun-bags. But I don’t mind; Fleetfoot’s dick is getting slicker with every grind, and so is the spot between my thighs. The longer they go without meeting, the more my mind rends itself in anticipation.

I stand up in a flash, letting Fleetfoot’s left leg tap against my thigh as I kiss her. Our tongues tangle, soft smacks filling the stall, my ears perking at each one like plucked oboe strings. Of course, this carnal concerto comes to a halt as she pushes me against the wall leading to the porthole window—and the inch-thin bench under it.

Am I put off by this?

Like fucking Tartarus I am.

“Hm?“ I ask, my legs spreading to show off my dripping peach to Fleetfoot. I swear I can hear the Wonderbolt's lusty sigh over the shower’s beat. “Maybe you need a view to go with your workout?”

In a whirl of wind, Fleetfoot has my hoof propped on the bench, leaning in with sensually sinister intent. By fuck, her cock feels like it’s doubled in size as it wedges at my pussy lips.

“Workout?” Fleetfoot growls. "If they were all like this, I'd never stop doing them."

I try to shoot back something cocky—something perfectly, alluringly me—but all faded into a burbling hiss of bliss. My hands speak for me instead, spreading my ass-cheeks to accommodate her pulsing cock. She’s hilted in me at last! Oh god, it’s so much, and I thought it was overwhelming in my throat!

Suddenly I’m grateful for how cold this shower’s spray has gotten. Without it I might have melted apart, impaled on Fleetfoot as I am. I’m an endlessly moaning toy for Fleetfoot's unstoppable libido, leaning against the wall to keep up with her.

And wouldn’t you know, Fleetfoot doesn’t suffer an inch of shrinkage in this icy waterfall. Perhaps she draws all the heat she needs hearing my sweet wails. Maybe she holds it in as tightly as her hands clench, winding around my hourglassed waist as she snuggles against my back. Or perhaps the friction of her dick, burrowing deeper in me with every scooch of her hooves, is keeping her fire going strong.

Then she pulls back and pistons, and thinking is the last thing on my mind right now. Assuming I could keep it in my skull from the power of her bucket.

“Fleet~!” I can’t even finish the sentence. Fleetfoot is filling me with her love as fast as she’s banishing the air from my longs, her fingers treading everywhere on my back as she works. My cunt weeps at the gift with fluids far stickier than anything the shower and soap could provide as it wraps around Fleetfoot’s length. I want to say that I don’t know where I end and the Wonderbolt fucking me begins, but that’s a sorry lie; every ripple of my gorgeous rump reminds me with fucking authority just how I’m joined to this athletic marvel.

“Deeper,” is all my ecstasy-wracked mind lets me say.

As I turn back to purr that word into Fleetfoot’s panting face again, I feel that sense of surrender flaring through my body. More than anything I want Fleetoot to have me any way she wants, and the pull of her hands—now holding my glutes—says I can do so much more. One of my hands wraps around my knee, keeping me properly moored so Fleetfoot can get further in me.

I’m wide open for the deepest of dick-drilling, and Fleetfoot seizes the opportunity with gusto, spearing my gushing snatch. I scream and vibrate in her grasp, my lips successfully seeking hers to feel more of her passion. Soon, I’m plundered at both ends, by Fleetfoot’s tongue up high and her titanic trencher below.

And it’s in that moment, curled around for my Wonderbolt, tongues tangling and Fleetfoot as deep as she can go, that I come.

Time seems to stop at that moment, space itself shattering into white before my eyes. My gash bursts its gates, syrupy juices splattering down my legs and over the stall. But below, reality still bears its virile might against the tides of chaos—because throughout all this Fleetfoot never stops driving into me. The pressure turns my snatch into a sprinkler, extending my orgasm further with each squelching echo.

Soon, I slump against the shower wall again, spent for the moment. Fleetfoot stops soon after, still buried around me her pants clouding the port window above me. Even now, after feeling me break apart around her breeding tool, she looks larger than life.

“Shit…” Fleetfoot begins, her voice only barely fatigued. “Didn’t think you had it in you, girl.”

I still scarcely believe it, it feels like it’ll tear me in two now that the tremors have fad—oh wait, Fleetfoot means my orgasm and not her cock. Ah, well. “Well… I do so love getting personal with big c… clients like you.”

“Sounds like I better run up the score, then,” Fleetfoot whispers in my ear. I mewl throatily feeling that rumble flowing through my soul. “Up for round two?”

I wanted to say yes. Fuck, I started all of this. But sanity, fleeting and frustrating as it is, bleeds through at that moment. I haven’t exactly been quiet, Fleetfoot’s clearly been in this shower a while...

“If Photo hears, she might-”

“Photo’s busy, isn’t she? Whole set-up and all.” Fleetfoot wiggles her eyebrows salaciously. "Plus, she’s a cutie too. Woulda asked for a date or two after the shoot, but I… really… love your enthusiasm.”

Jealousy flares its wrinkle-spawning head for a second, but I keep from letting it twist my smile. Instead, I push back at Fleetfoot until I feel her marvelously snug dick slide out of my slit. “Forget her, Fleet. I’m all you need now. And right now, you’re all I need, too.”

“Ooh, I don’t knoooow…” Now I know Fleetfoot’s fucking with me, even as she leans back on the seat in this shower. “Might need to really keep me going to forget about someone as important as Photo.”

I look down.

Luna’s leaking labia, Fleetfoot’s still as thick as a streetlight and almost as long down there. And her cock’s head is now bubbling with her cum and mine, a milk white sheet that beckons to my parched lips with every lewd bob.

My irritation flits away in a flash; I need to feel what it’s like for this Everhoof-chiseled pegasus to jam her masterpiece into me. My hips twitch at the mere thought, turning me around until the cleft of my ass is comforting Fleetfoot’s dick.

“Okay then, Fleetfoot…” I respond as my tail flags, flicking at the snout of the hottest futa I’ve ever seen. “Hope you’re ready to see this fitting through then.”

And I sink down, my walls greedily clasping around that shaft again.

This time, both of my hands brace against the shower walls to help me as I bounce up and down. The sting of the still-arctic waterspray on my chest does make the build-up slower, but seeing my fun-bags roll and bounce makes it worth the wait. Soon I’m howling in indescribable joy, even more so when Fleetfoot’s hands move to stretch my pussy lips further. It’s not long before that fleshy intruder is barreling into my deepest depths, somehow getting further along with each hop I take onto it.

Wait, intruder? At this point, my bliss-baked brain would have this part of Fleetfoot over every day, twice on Sundays.

As the minutes roll past, I just soak in the sensation, in every sense of the word. Fleetfoot’s hammering into me now, joining in my frantic twerking as I feel her tap at the entrance to my womb. My gaze is locked on Fleetfoot’s cumsacs when I’m now throwing my head back in elation just before seeing how heavymy Wonderbolt’s balls get. I can feel their magma-hot load brimming, trembling around every vein of the cock claiming my cunt.

And Fleetfoot’s hands are working magic all their own, seizing around my tits to twist at my nipples like foal’s bottles.

“Yes! Yes!” I scream, letting my eyelids flutter shut at last. It won’t be too long now, not before that scorching heat is too stuck in me to do anything but fill me. I bend backward into Fleetfoot’s touch, my wet mane drifting over her nostrils. I hope she’s as drunk on my fragrance as I am on her thrusts. I hope that all I feel for the rest of my life is the ripple of her muscles as they grasp and gape open my most sensitive parts.

But above all else…

“F-fleet…”

…For the sake of a wet-wish welling faster in my groin than my second climax…

“Ohhh!, s-SHIT! Ahhh!!”

…I want Fleetfoot to flood my swollen, slutty cun-

“...Madame Fleetfoot! The cameras are all ready! Are you not yet finished with your shower?”

It takes until that scrumptious warmth vanishes from my plumbed pussy for me to come back down to planet Equus. Flettfoot is shifting behind me, and a first I think it’s to find a new position to drill him. Then I see how bone-white her face has become. And how much she’s scrambling for the door.

And that the final invoking of Fleet's name was not from my lips.

My next question is obvious. “I-is that PHOT-”

Thankfully Fleetfoot’s hand slaps over my lips to keep me from giving myself away. How I have not done so beforehand is nothing short of a miracle. One that Fleetfoot is currently trying to keep alive. “N-no, not yet!” she hollers. “Don’t come in, I’m not decent!”

‘You and I both, Fleetfoot,' I think despairingly.

It’s with dreading realization that I also see how ajar the bathroom door is. Goodness, Photo doesn’t even need to get past it to see my dripping, naked self! By Luna, I’m so fucked!

Photo’s voice continues in a tauntingly close tempo. God, just one step and she’ll know! “Well, very good then. I was… hoping you could see me as soon as you could.”

“Y-yeah! Of course!” Fleetfoot’s hand scrabbles on the door hand, still too scared of possibly making Photo take another step to risk opening it entirely yet still in desperate need of the towel hanging on its outside bar. “

“Oh. I heard your yelling, and thought you had found some trouble.” Again, not a hint of that blue-balling photographer shows beyond that listing door. “By the way, have you seen Suri?”

Fleetfoot and I shoot each other nervous looks. Would saying yes get Photo away from that accursed door? Eventually, I shake my head, and Fleetfoot gets the message.

“Not a hair nor hide, Photo!” Fleetfoot said, though her dick jumped at my name as if in silent protest. I almost chuckled in pride. “You sure you didn’t see her on the way over?”

“I… think I would remember such a dreadful encounter,” Photo’s voice sounds more strained now. Distant. Is she doubting Fleetfoot now? But it is only for a split second, and then… “Well, come on out then. I simply must see what attire you have picked for the spread!”

Fleetfoot gulps. "S-sure I can’t wait? I mean, I usually have this whole moisturizing routine an-”

“Right now, please!” Photo shoots back insistently. “The sooner I lay eyes on you as you deserve to be seen, the better!”

And finally, Fleetfoot concedes. “Alright then! Wait by the other door, please!” Then she turns to me, and her twinkling eyes scramble for a plan. No way am I leaving now, with Photo almost certainly about to spend the next few minutes playing house. If my coat gets pruney, I’m going to fucking scream.

“Alright then, Madame Fleetfoot…” I taunt her cattily, flicking the bead at the head of my necklace. “How do you plan to get Photo out of my mane this time?”

It takes seconds to get my answer; I should have expected as much from such a whipsmart Wonderbolt. “Alright, I go out, get through one outfit, pretend to twist a hoof slippin’ out of it,” Fleetfoot offers. “And just like that, I’m off to the kitchen for some ice. Three minutes, tops.”

“Three minutes,” I staunchly repeat; I’m holding her to this. Pony fashion itself is on the line. “And after you're done cleaning her drool off your lap, maybe…?”

Fleetfoot’s breath hitches in recognition of what the waggle in my hips implies. “Maybe,” she whispers. “Kiss for good luck?”

I lean forward and pucker up. But unfortunately—or maybe not, considering what a rush it brings to my core—Fleetfoot swoops down to give an open-mouth kiss to one of my heaving nipples.

Immediately, I‘m back in the mood, but the shower only gets all the colder as Fleetfoot bolts from it. Wrapping a white towel around herself, and her still-erect marehood, Fleetfoot shoots a thumb-up as she disappears around the door.

I stay where I’m at, wringing my hands over her latest stunt. By the Princesses, that was dirty! I turn the knob of the shower all the way to the left, sighing in relief as the water drowns out that noise.

Then, my hands settle at my well-stoked snatch, and I suck in a breath as my sea-green nails ghost across spongy flesh. I look to the door, relievedly closed now. I barely hear a sound; surely they’re already starting. But I’m still starved for some contact, my thighs ablaze with more than the steaming water drenching them.

And, well… I didn’t hear anything from that sexy Wonderbolt about me having some fun waiting.

I lift a finger to my lips, biting it softly to ensure I have a stopgap for my pleasured pants. My other hand’s fingers go to four and seven a.m., stretching my puffy clit out like a diamond. Oh yes, I still see it gape with every breath I take, as if still hungry for the ponderous length that crammed it mere minutes ago.

The digits treading there now will simply do with precision what Fleetfoot’s dick did with size.

After all, I know just what press and where can speed me through to the mountaintop. I’d explored them so very thoroughly in my study of the Wonderbolts, seeing all their appetizing curves… and bulges.

Even now, it’s images of these Wonderbolts—one in particular—that grace my mind as I rub circles around my needy clit. Between my muffled gasps of pleasure, Fleetfoot still makes my heart sing, even if only in spirit. Killing it in a bright orange bikini, looming high in my mind with a feathery white coat swept around her like a cloud. Pushing down the tab of a zipper of her Wonderbolt suit, jade-sculpted muscle blossoming from between a ‘V’ of silver teeth, getting tantalizingly close to her straining crotch. Silky scarlet bonds binding my Wonderbolt's wrists and hooves as she smirks around the card between her teeth stating Happy Hearts & Hooves.

And every one of those Fleetfoots with their gazes set upon me, smoldering and slatternly as I thrash and undulate before them.

Instantly, my body grew hot as the sun, that vivid mimicry making me speed up my fingering. Sweet, fuck, finally the adulations I deserved after grinding for so long. And how fitting, how beautiful the luck, that it comes from such grinding on my gash! I continue my stroking, loving the blur my digits become as they strum across my lower lips. Sometimes I even stop to spread the petals of my pussy open, and I don’t know if it's the pitter-patter of the water upon my slit or in my heart that beats louder in my ears.

“Fleeety…” I coo, fighting back the urge to just thrust my fingers into my cunt. I’m so close already, and I will not risk losing a nail now. “So much… so rough…”

And close is exactly what this whole encounter has embodied—that flow of danger and desire that mingles with the now-lukewarm water washing over me. How many risks have I undertaken, worshipping that thick altar of Fleetfoot’s the second I had her alone? How close have I come to little Photo no of my dirty little secret? How close even now, barely feet from those two and fanning my twat with reckless abandon. Already my green nails stroke at a pair of lips that are endlessly ravaged by water yet thirst all the more.

…Fuck, maybe I want Photo to hear me. To know the stifled moans that can only come from taking Fleetfoot’s ponderous fucklog. To finally stretch out of her taffeta-skirted shell and crown that green Wonderbolt cock as did. My fingers pinch madly at my pussy lips as I dossy up that vision, and within seconds, an incoming orgasm soon teetering on the edge.

My limbs clatter against the showers’ walls, but I’m long past caring. My left hand is fully collapsed over my mouth; else, all of Manehattan would hear my cries now. As it is, only a painfully mouselike squeak slips from my maw as I wring my clit for all its worth. The slick thwickthwick is all I hear in this water-thudding din, now.

Then my thumb flicks madly at the bead atop my center, before hooking around it and pushing down like the lever of a cash register.

And by fuck, do I open all the way up.

“Fleeeetfooooo~”

This too dies around my lips. My climax is thankfully not as subdued, hot juices splattering from my snatch. I adore seeing my fucksap slosh against the wall, making them glitter as my knees wobble dangerously against those tiles. Soon I may lose my balance, not in the least because white has nearly filled my vision again.

But even wild elephants won’t stop me from riding this fucking release out.

Yet, just as soon as I am cresting that peak, I’m over it again. Fireworks fade before my eyes, and I am once again a mare, rather than a monument to the Wonderbolt’s promise of cock. Now it’s just Suri again, and the glossy curtains of her mane fluttering under her heavy breaths, and her fat tits grown heavy under the torrent still pounding upon them.

At least I know this; it’s been far more than three minutes.

Licking my fingers as I give one more look to my swollen lower lips, I soak in the feeling.

Wait… is that Fleetfoot I hear? And Photo? Why are they still here?

And… why is Photo gasping so loudly?

A very unorthodox ‘what the fuck’ silently spills from my mouth as I twist the knob and banish the shower’s stream. It’s only growing louder, that all-too-perplexing noise—I know that my Wonderbolt was supposed to have faked that injury ages ago! What gives?

Far be it from me to leave that mystery be.

So after I pull down a towel and wrap myself in it.—and conceal myself behind the dresser just in case Photo realizes the sudden muteness in this room—I make my way to the door. It feels like forever, but those maddening noises keep repeating, and I finally dare to look.

And my jaw might end up taking the express route to Manehattan, it’s dropped so low.

Pardon my Prench, but there’s no fucking way.

Yet as I storm out into the scene before me, Photo lets another whinny as the figure under her finally stops moving. Fleetfoot’s just as white-faced as she was when we first heard Photo, but this time I’m its cause.

Well, that, and all the blood still caught up in her fuck-rod that the very naked Photo is still hopping on!

A million different thoughts flood through my mind, but given how my latest rendezvous with Fleetfoot went, the offense I want to take at her actions just falls flat. So of course, my ager finds a better target.

An old target.

A familiar, blue-coated, wide-eyed, dick-smuggling target.

“What is the MEANING of this, Finish!?”